Here Lies the Abyss
by Ventisquear
Summary: Something is rotten in the Kingdom of Ferelden. Evil lurks in shadow, ready to strike... Warning: Contains deaths of many characters.
1. Of Knights and Orchids

For CMDA 'whodunnit' Challenge. Thanks to my wonderful beta Seika for her help and ideas. :D

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Greagoir peeked out of the window. It had obviously rained the night before, but now the sky was clear, without a single cloud marring its blue. The air was full of sweet scents, and the birds were trying to sing their lungs out. It was a perfect day for working in the garden. Smiling, he put on his work trousers and linen shirt. His back was stiff; a bit of manual work would do him some good.

He stepped out into the sunlight and took a deep breath. Ahhhh. Being retired was better than he expected. Let someone else be the bad guy, the feared guard dog of the mages. He had done his share. Mages, Templars, with their endless quarrels and wars; it was not a part of his life any more. At first he had been scared to live alone, in silence; but now he liked it more and more each day. Trees and flowers didn't give you headaches.

With a silent chuckle, he shuffled to the shack to get the hoe. He would start with weeding his orchids–he stopped in track, staring at the open door to the shack. Did he forget to close it yesterday? His memory wasn't what it used to be any more. But, no. As he moved closer, it was clear that someone had smashed the lock.

Why would anyone break into his garden shack? And who? There wasn't anyone living nearby; the nearest farm was two miles away. He looked into the shack. One of his pickaxes was missing, but that was all. Filled with a bad premonition, he grabbed the other pickaxe and went to look for the intruder.

He didn't have to go far. Right behind the corner, someone was systematically digging out his beloved orchids.

"What are you doing?" he screeched as he ran towards the intruder.

"Good morning, Knight-Commander. I am so glad you decided to join the party," said the burglar, calmly continuing the work of destruction.

He had a vague feeling he knew that voice; where had he heard it before? "Stop that. I said, stop that! _NOW_!"

The intruder straightened up and slowly turned to him. "Yes, Ser! At your command. I only wanted to dig up some flowers for your pyre, before you burn."

"For my pyre? Who in the Void you are?" This was bad. He must get back into the house, get his sword; he must fight back –

oOo

The murderer looked at the list pinned to the wall. That old senile fart was a great beginning, but there was still so much to do.


	2. Screams in Darkness

Thanks for responses and alerts!Special thanks to Seika for her help and support.

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**Screams in Darkness**

He listened to the soft sound of her steps. The door opened with a slow creak, then a slight pause; he knew she was checking to see if he was asleep. Another slow creak as the door closed behind her.

Eamon opened his eyes and counted to ten. Then he got up, put on his housecoat and followed after her. Long ago he suspected she had a lover, and had started to follow her, in order to catch her _in flagrante_. But instead of a lover, he found that she would wander aimlessly through the corridors like a silent ghost. In the end, she would always come to Connor's room. There, she would curl up on Connor's bed, sobbing into the pillow; sometimes she would throw a tantrum, screaming and throwing things around her, sometimes even hitting herself.

How he hated that room! She had kept it the same as it was years ago, when Greagoir took their boy into the Tower. He hated the it; a loathsome place that was stealing his wife from him, draining her life like a demon. Perhaps if he destroyed it, if he burnt everything in it, they could become close once again. But he was too much of a coward. All he could do was to watch her helplessly from a distance, a ruined memory of a life they once had, that would never come back.

He knew, of course, that all of the guards and servants snickered behind his back, but he didn't care. He was paying them a nice sum of money to keep quiet, to turn away when they saw or heard her during her nightly wanderings.

"Nooooooooo!"

Eamon frowned. Something was wrong. In all these years, she only gave wordless shrieks of rage and hate. Had one of the servants decided to mock her? He started running, swearing to himself that if anyone had hurt her, he would kill the bastard with his own hands.

oOo

"So, you do not like my redecorations? That hurts my feelings. I was trying so hard."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Isolde tried to recognize the voice, but she was almost certain she had never heard it before. The stranger was dressed in the armour of the guards, but why would a guard do something this horrible?

Not one thing was spared. Little clothes cut to pieces; covers torn off of books, the pages thrown all across the room. Toys broken and disfigured; even the pillows and the blankets ripped, feathers spilling out of them like streams of white blood.

"Because someone has to," the intruder said calmly.

"I will have you hanged for this," she hissed. "Eamon will–"

"Die tonight, right after I'm done with you."

Her eyes widened in horror as she watched him come closer. Too late, she turned away to flee, but the guard jumped at her, throwing her to the ground. She desperately tried to crawl away, to get up, but a hard boot stomped on her back and pinned her to the ground.

But maybe there was still a chance–she heard steps; yes, someone was running this way, she would be saved! The door burst open and she wept in relief.

"Isolde!"

She looked up at scared face of her husband. "Eamon!" she sobbed. "Help-"

oOo

Humming contentedly, the murderer pulled off the guard armour, used the bathroom to wash away any trace of blood, and put on more normal clothes. No need to hurry; the two guards supposed to patrol this part of the castle were now at the bottom of Lake Calenhad. It was their own fault for working for those corrupted defectors. The armour soon joined his original owner in the lake, too.

Good job. Quick and neat and oh, _so_ satisfying. Now, who should be the next one? Perhaps it would be better to postpone the visit to Denerim for some time… after tonight, there would be too many guards everywhere. Never mind. The order was not important and there were still many to choose from.

The fun was just beginning.


	3. Repaid in Blood

Thanks to lovely Seika for beta reading and help. :)

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**Repaid in Blood**

Ever since they had discovered it during the Blight, the temple in Haven was Leliana's favourite place, where she went to feel close to the Maker. Whenever one of her missions brought her to Ferelden, she went up there for spiritual recovery. Some missions she had to do for the Divine would leave her full of doubts; it was only her vow of obedience that helped her to overcome it. She knew it helped her grow in her faith and become a better servant of the Maker, but sometimes it was so difficult to serve. Here, kneeling in front of the Ashes, she always found her inner peace again.

The temple had changed a lot over these past ten years, but it was still quiet and peaceful enough. It had taken years before the Chantry had approved that it was indeed the true resting place of Andraste; but just at they were ready to allow pilgrimages, the war started. It was over now, but the world was still in too much chaos to care much about Andraste's Temple. A lot of people blamed the Maker and Andraste for the war, for not stopping the mad mage that had blown up the Chantry in Kirkwall and started it all. It was a horrible trial–but deep in her heart she couldn't help being a bit happy that this place was still unchanged.

Never more so than today. That last mission had been very upsetting, more a task for a bard than a sister, even a Seeker. Definitely not what she imagined when she vowed her loyalty to the Divine.

The sisters in the Temple already knew her face and greeted her with a warm smile. Her usual room was empty and ready, they assured her. She had an hour before the Vespers started, just enough time to rest and change into her Chantry robes; dinner will be at six, then Compline... It was so easy to slip back into the monastery life, like coming home to a loving family. It was with a light heart that she went to the Inner temple, to pray in front of the Sacred Ashes.

There was blissful silence and peace, just as she had expected; the sisters were all busy with their daily routines, and the only other person nearby was a Templar. Brilliant! But, after less than five minutes of prayer, the Templar came closer to her.

"Sister, could you please help me? I seek guidance," he said humbly.

She was a bit annoyed, yes, but she could not refuse. "Of course," she said sweetly. "How can I help you?"

"Does the Maker forgive any sin?"

"Yes, He does, if the person repents his sins and abandons his sinful ways," she replied in the same sweet voice. She had a vague feeling that she had heard that voice before... but no, probably not. In those full helmets, all Templars sounded similar.

"And what if the sinner only pretends to repent? What if such a sinner sneaked her way into the Chantry, pretending to be a sister, but was, in fact, a spy?"

Leliana laughed, but it made her worried. Who _was_ this person? "Why would anyone do such a thing?"

The Templar shrugged. "Perhaps to spoil the Chantry, to destroy it from within? To corrupt the hearts of true believers? I don't know. You tell me."

"I am sorry, but I don't think I can help you. I have no idea what you are talking about," she said, suddenly regretting that she had left her daggers in her room. "Please excuse me. I must return now, the Vespers will start–"

In a flash, the Templar was on top of her, pinning her to the ground, covering her mouth; the steel claws of the gauntlet jabbing into her cheek.

"I think not," the Templar growled. "You're not going anywhere, except to the Void. You and all the others who caused the war and brought suffering and death to His children."

It didn't make any sense. She tried to fight, but the Templar had a huge advantage, with that heavy armour. After a few heavy blows with that steel gauntlet, all she could do was writhe pathetically as the Templar dragged her upstairs, to the Urn, and pulled out a dagger. She knew what would happen, but all she could do was watch in horror as her own blood flowed down, into the Ashes-

oOo

Job well done, again. The false sister was now wandering through the Void, as she deserved. As they all deserved. They all had to die!

Shhh shhhh; calm down now. Must be more careful from now on. They will be all more careful now, too. They will try to escape the punishment. But they won't.

They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.


	4. Farce

Thanks for reading, reviewing and theories! They make X very happy. ^^

Special thanks to my talented beta Seika for her help. :)

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**Farce**

Oghren's steps were slower and slower; the closer he got to home, the greater was his wish to turn back, go to the Keep, get drunk and ignore the sodding Commander. Then, the next day he could pretend he didn't give a nugshit about Felsi and Kalah. It was better than going there and playing happy family. Felsi had stopped hoping for that years ago; now she merely tolerated him for Kalah's sake. It would not be long until Kalah stopped caring, too. Every time he came, she was little bit less glad to see him.

Not that he could blame them. He was no family man. He should have never gotten married again, he knew that now. Not after Branka. But when he left Orzammar everything had felt so strange; endless, open in all directions, too sodding big for one person alone. Before he had left Orzammar, he had been in the Deep Roads twice, which was more than most other dwarves in the town had ever done; on the surface it seemed any noble git could travel more during their morning walk. And, he had thought, with a new family, it would be easier to forget his former life. To forget Branka.

Big mistake, that.

Three months after the sodding wedding, he had known it would never work; after another three months he left to Wardens, because he had no idea where else to go. He knew Felsi would be happier without him. But it was too late. She was already with Kalah... he was a father. That was the best thing that had ever happened to him. For a while, it had seemed that they could be a family. Daddy was not home, but that was because he was a sodding Warden, who protects everyone with his big axe. But Daddy still loved his little nugget and Mummy.

And Branka.

It had been ten years since he became the Warden, and the Commander had given him three months of holiday to stay with his family. Never giving up, Commander. Oghren knew it wouldn't help... but maybe it could be the last time. He stopped at the crossroad. It wasn't far now. If he wanted, he could be home within two hours...

Cursing, he turned in the opposite direction. He would go home tomorrow. Tonight the needed a drink.

The inn was crowded and smelly. Not unlike the inn near the lake Calenhad where Felsi– no, better not think of that. He ordered the strongest ale they had, and wanted nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion in a lone corner; but after a while someone came to his table.

"Ser Oghren?"

He looked up at the person looming over him. "Should I know you?"

"I was at Denerim! During the fight at the gates!"

"Yeah. Great. Now get lost."

But the annoying nughumper didn't listen and went on and on and on about the Blight, and the Hero and Oghren's bravery, and how they saved sodding Ferelden... But as long as the fool was willing to pay for beer, Oghren could survive it without becoming a murderer.

A few hours later, and they were the best of buddies. With tears and sobbing, he told his companion everything, about Branka; how he loved her, how he would do anything for her, even now, if she would come back to him... and about Felsi; how he broke her heart and how he hated himself for it; about his little nugget, Kalah, his only reason for life, and how he would crush any sodding surfacer that would try to look at her.

His companion listened to his misery, patting him on his back; and when Oghren tried to get up, and found he couldn't figure out which legs were his own and which belonged to the table, his companion even offered to take him back home. Yeah. A surprisingly decent surfacer, that one.

oOo

The murderer sighed in content. It had been too long since that last murder... but maybe that was why it felt so good. And it would continue even tomorrow: it would be fun, to watch from his hiding place. How would people in Redcliffe react to Ser Oghren, dead in a stinky back alley, less than fifteen minutes walk from his home. Covered in vomit and piss, reeking of cheap ale, apparently stabbed during a brawl.

One of the heroes of the Blight, decorated by the King himself.

That was all everyone cared about these days. It was time to remind them of truth.


	5. Blood Wound

Thanks for all the reviews! It is so much fun to write this and read your theories and suspicions. :)

And as always, special thanks and a big hug to my wonderful beta Seika. :)

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**Blood Wound**

Jowan dragged himself to the bed and sat down, but he was too exhausted to do anything else. He should go to the mayor and ask him again to allow the clinic, and at least one assistant; it simply wasn't possible any more to do it all by himself. Perhaps with this epidemic of measles, he would be willing to forget his hate of magic.

If only old Ian was still alive. The previous mayor was his friend, ever since that fateful night in the Brecilian forest, when Ian and a group of refugees had discovered the camp where Jowan was hiding from the Templars. With surprise, he had realized he could finally be useful. That he could do some good. To those refugees, he wasn't a monster, but a saviour, a friend–a healer. When they founded the village, after the Blight, he had officially became the healer there. He had his own home and a job he loved. For a few years, life was good; better he had ever dared to hope.

The war of Mages and Templars ruined everything. Mages became feared, hated, hunted, more than ever before. Suddenly, he turned from a respected citizen and a neighbour to a possible threat. It might be officially over now, but it cut too deep. Many had died–including Ian. Almost every family lost someone. Of course, Jowan thought bitterly, most blamed mages, just like the new mayor. Maybe in ten or twenty years things could be as they were before, but now it was too fresh.

Maybe this time the mayor would listen. If something wasn't done, and quickly, people would die! Jowan had made an oath he didn't intend to break: that he would never again cause the death or suffering of another man. Perhaps, if he continued like he did now, one day the Maker would have mercy with his soul and forgive him for what he had done in Redcliffe-

A door creaked. He heard heavy footsteps in the hall. Probably another patient. But it was strange; normally they would call for him. And all the villagers knew where his bedroom was; they didn't have to wander around the house. Something was wrong. He got up and grabbed his staff; since the war, he always had it on the wall above the bed. Just in case some mage-hater decided to pay him a visit.

But when the door to the bedroom opened, he almost dropped it in surprise. "You?"

"You remember me? I am honoured. I'd love to chat about how you've been, but I'm afraid I don't have time. Let's just cut in to the important part, shall we?"

oOo

Ahhh. After dreaming about this day for so long, finally, the maleficar was dead. Oh, the look on his face when he realized there was no escaping the punishment this time! Perfect.

And upon the return, there was the long-expected message waiting on the desk. And a bag of coins, which was more than necessary now–bribing guards and servants wasn't cheap. But the best part was the message.

Sten was coming to visit the Kadan.

It was the best proof that the Maker himself was giving his blessing to this work.


	6. Second Chance

Thanks for all reviews and PMs and support! And keep the theories coming! It's so much fun to read them. :D

Special thanks to my beta Seika, for her help and comments, and to Bloodsong for poking me until I finished this chapter. :D

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**Second Chance**

Connor clenched his jaw and walked over to room holding his head high, pretending he didn't see all the people gawping at him. He was sick and tired of the glares, the vicious whispering behind his back–though always loud just enough for him to overhear. The apprentices in the Tower hated him because he had a royal family–it wasn't true; King Alistair wasn't really his uncle, but as he insisted that Connor called him so, everybody overlooked that fact. Non-mages hated him because he was a mage, and shouldn't be allowed outside of the Tower. Not even for the funeral of his parents. The Templars agreed, of course. They hated him the most; as the cursed abomination that could start killing everyone around at any moment.

It didn't matter what he did, how well he behaved, or how hard he worked; he would always be a failure. Besides, his talent was nothing special; _he_ would never be a star pupil like the Warden. The Warden was so strong, that defeating the demon in the heart of its realm in the Fade-where it was the most powerful-was like child's play, as Connor's mentor liked to remind him whenever his results were less the perfect. Which meant at least five time every day.

Everyone expected him to take the Warden as a model, and he pretended that he did. But why should he admire someone he didn't even remember? He was five at the time, and he only knew what the others had told him, how Teyrn Loghain hired a mage to poison Connor's father, and how he had made a deal with a demon to save him. The demon had killed a lot of people, but the the Warden came and saved the day, again. But for Connor, it didn't mean much. It was just another Blight story.

He didn't remember his parents much, either. Sometimes he had a fleeting memory, in those moments just before he fell asleep. Mother's voice, singing a lullaby. Father, giving him his first sword. Uncle Teagan, giving him a piggy ride. There was no memory of 'Uncle' Alistair, or the Warden, or demon.

He remembered that when he came to the Tower, he was hoping that Mum and Dad would come to take him home soon. When he climbed on the windowsill, he could see the castle on the other side of the lake; he remembered imagining that Mum was standing in his room, waving at him and calling that they were coming tomorrow. They never came, of course. The hope soon changed to disappointment, to anger, to hate... and then, in the end, to indifference. It didn't matter any more. They became only shadows from the past, no more than names. Even if they did come, he wouldn't recognize them.

And now they were dead. Murdered; that was all he knew. Everyone avoided talking about it in front of him; they probably thought it would cause too big a shock to his labile mind and he would succumb to the demon immediately and tear them to pieces and eat the raw. Fools. And the King was the biggest fool of all, insisting that Connor must attend the funeral. Let's all play happy family! Well, not so happy, given the circumstances, but isn't it such a sad, touching story?

Thank the Maker he would be back in the Tower in a few days. There he could survive somehow, until the Harrowing. He had no doubts he would fail–one way or another. And then it would be finally over, as it should have been years ago-

"By the Maker! Connor? Connor Guerrin, is that you? The last time I saw you you were this small, and your mother–ah, but forgive me. I didn't mean–such a tragedy..."

The Templars immediately stood in front of him, ready to draw their swords, but Connor stopped them. It was obviously just another of his parents' noble friends, who wanted to express sympathy and to blabber about the past. Not that Connor looked forward to it, but he couldn't refuse; he was supposed to be polite and _socialize_–that's how the First Enchanter and the King called it. _He_ called it torture. Ah well. A few minutes wouldn't kill him, after all.

The blasted noble stayed with them for more than an hour; waving to the servant to bring over their things and get some ale for the 'young lord' and his company. By the time the two finally left, Connor was so tired he could barely move and he had a terrible headache...

oOo

The kid was not on the schedule yet, but only a fool would have missed such a great opportunity. Easy and neat–by the time they left, Connor was beyond any chance of healing. Even if the Templars would know what poison was used, the antidote would only work if taken within an hour after poisoning. It was perfect.

And Sten was as good as dead too–now that there were two of them was here, it would be a piece of cake.

That was not a lie.


	7. Maaras Shokra

Thanks to Seika for her beta reading, but also for her help with the plot and removing of unintended hints. :)

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Maaras Shokra

Sten hadn't expected to come back to Ferelden. Not like this; on a merchant ship, with no army. That was good. He did not wish to meet his Kadan on the battlefield. Kadan had defeated the Archdemon in an honourable battle. Of all warriors Sten had met in this weird country, Kadan was the only one worthy of respect. The new Arishok had come to that conclusion, too. He thought that Kadan was the reason why the war between _bas saarebas_ and their keepers wasn't so bad in Ferelden. And that was why Sten was here now. To bring more answers.

Sten accepted his task, as it was his duty. He did not like it. Answers from this country did not make anything clear. They only made things more confusing.

Life was so much more simple before he came to Ferelden for the first time. Everything was as it should be; everyone knew their place and did not wish to change it. Sten did not wish to change, either. He lived by the Qun, following it without question. When he was sent on his mission, he was not afraid. He could lose his life, but he could not lose himself, his honour or belief. This time, however, he was full of doubts.

This country was dangerous in its ignorance and chaos. Women, fighting like men. Men, wearing skirts like women. Elves, whining about poverty. Humans, whining about nobles. Nobles, whining about kings. And the king, whining about being a king. No one was ever satisfied with their place. Always moving, always wanting something different. Convinced they deserved more.

Qun would do this country much good. That was what he used to believe.

But thinking of his Kadan, on a leash, unable to speak or think freely… He did not want to see that. He did not want to think about it.

The ship would be in Amaranthine soon. He had better prepare himself.

oOo

Kadan sent a recruit for him, a young elf with a sour expression. It was obvious that the elf was not happy with the task. The elf insisted that they should stay at an inn for the night, and go to the Keep the next day. He was surprised; in the letter, Kadan had said that the way from the dock to Keep was not long, merely a few hours. There was no reason to stay in Amaranthine. The elf disagreed–these were strict orders of the Warden Commander, so there was no other way. There were some unfortunate incidents, of which it was better not to speak in public, but which required increased security.

Unwillingly, he followed the elf to the inn–smelly, dirty and noisy, like everything else in this country. The elf rented a room and ordered a dinner to their room; another command of the Warden commander, the elf said–safer that way. It was annoying, but Sten assumed Kadan knew the best. As usually.

During the dinner, the elf had a lot of questions about the Qun, unperturbed by Sten's short, unwilling answers. In the end he had to tell the elf frankly to be quiet. He was tired, and his head was heavy. He wanted to go to sleep.

"I will not disturb you further," said the elf with a grin. "Nothing will disturb you any more, I promise."

oOo

"Well? Is it done?"

"It is." The elf grinned. "The big oaf didn't know what hit him."

"And witnesses?"

"There's no need to worry. Nobody looked past ears. One _kossith_ and one elven servant, no reason for a human to look twice at such trash." There was a hint of anger in the elf's voice. "But it served us well, this time."

"Indeed. Only four more to go."

"And the grand finale."

"And the grand finale."

That deserved a little celebration.


	8. The Murder of Crows

Thanks to all for reading, following and reviewing this story! I love your comments and theories!

Special thanks to my wonderful beta Seika. :)

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**The Murder of Crows**

Zevran was scared, like he hadn't been for years. Even the sight of the Archdemon hadn't frightened him this much. The Archdemon was just an another mark to be killed, a very big and visible mark. This was much worse; this unknown, invisible killer, picking off his friends one by one. He knew now how some of his marks felt, knowing that they were being hunted, helpless to do anything but dread when and where it would happen.

It didn't help that the new Knight Commander was an incompetent, arrogant fool. He kept the deaths of Greagoir and Leliana secret, even from Alistair. Daring to say he didn't want to involve the Crown, as the main suspect was the Hero. Zevran gritted his teeth at the memory. If not for Alistair, that _tonto del culo_ would have died for such an insult.

His Warden, the most noble and gentle person he had ever met, a killer! Why not King Alistair himself? Ridiculous. He would have to have a talk with Alistair, when he returned to Denerim. Having a Knight Commander who saw every mage as a potential monster and murderer, this early after the war, could cause problems. Especially as the Grand Cleric was becoming more and more senile every day and a puppet in the Knight Commander's hands. But that could wait. Right now he had more pressing issues.

He forced the Crows in Denerim to cooperate–it wasn't too difficult, in fact, as they were eager to prove they had nothing to do with the murders. Needless to say, they were much more competent than the Templars or Alistair's guards. Thanks to them, Zevran already knew a few things–the murderer was a human, but had at least one elven assistant. They were skilled enough to get information from villagers and servants, and rich enough to bribe whoever they needed. They paid attention to every detail and mostly relied on masks and blending in the shadows. The witnesses gave at least six different descriptions of the friendly noble and the elf that were drinking with Connor on that fateful evening. After Sten's murder–most scary of all, as it was so close to his Warden–the Crows caught a trace of the murderers and found their possible hideout. He decided to check it out.

And that was why he was here now, with four Crows hand-picked by the cell master himself. He hoped it was the right place and that the murderers were inside; he hoped to end this; the very idea that his Warden or Alistair could be the next victims–but no, he wouldn't think about that. May the Maker smile upon him and let him end this today.

oOo

"Demon! Stay away from mee-aaaaaaah!"

Zevran closed his eyes. That was the last one. He was by himself now.

After the first scream, he ran over, certain that the murderers had shown themselves and were fighting his Crows; and he wanted to be there, to be the one who dealt the final blow. But the only thing he found was a mutilated body of one of the Crows. Perhaps it really was a demon–perhaps...

Whatever it was, Zevran's situation was more than bad. He hated to admit it, but he had lost this round; he should retreat and–

"Welcome, ser Arainai."

He spurned around. Where was a wall a moment before, was now a door, and in it, tall human figure.

"You are– "

The attack was fierce, but Zevran was ready and parried it easily, counter-attacking immediately. For a while, they danced across the whole room in a wild series of attacks; they were both putting all their might into it, aware that only one can survive. Zevran was calm, forcing all his emotions and thoughts out of his mind, as always when he was fighting. Survive and win, ask questions later–the basic rule of any good Crow. He could win this, he thought, as he avoided another attack, stepping back a little–

and screamed as something pierced his chest from behind.

"You lost, Zevran. I expect you'd like to know why and how I did all this? Unfortunately, I'm not in a talkative mood today. You'll have to die without any answers, knowing only that you failed."

The weapon was pulled back from his body and he crumpled down on the floor. No–this couldn't be! He had to survive, he had to warn–

oOo

"And we were worried how to get near him. So kind of him, to spare us trouble and come to us."

"We need to leave. We're not safe here any more."

Such a spoilsport, this elf. "You worry too much. By the time they arrive, we'll be long gone".

More annoying was that it changed the plans a bit; all the preparations and money they had spent were wasted. Still, getting Arainai was more than worth it.


	9. Rest in Peace

Thank you for all your reviews, comments and all the support! It's thanks to you that it's such fun to write this. :) There are only two more victims, but, as I'm going on a holiday tomorrow, they won two extra weeks of living. ^^ I won't haveinternet connection so I won't be able to update stories or to reply to your reviews... I will, when I come back, but it will take me _even longer_ than usually.

Big thanks to Seika, for her super fast beta reading. You're the best! :)

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**Rest in Peace**

Irving slowly sat down on his bed, his joints creaking painfully. He was old. Although that, of course wasn't anything new. Sometimes it seemed he had been old his whole life. But he was never as aware of it as these last few weeks. Since Greagoir's death. Greagoir, his best friend and worst enemy.

They served together in this Tower, for more than three decades. They tried their best. Those below would never understand how difficult it was to be at the top; they saw only privileges, thought it was an easy life. And undeserved. Envy, disdain, hate and fear traced his and Greagoir's every step. They were called murderers; they were accused of being cruel, selfish human trash that sentenced people to fates worse than death at whim.

As if it was an easy decision, to make someone Tranquil. They were his children. He welcomed them when they first arrived, consoled them if the Templars were harsher than necessary–and they often were. He wanted them to forget the pain and injustice of their former lives, and to be proud about being mages. But he saw enough cases when these hopes failed to know it was impossible. Those haters didn't have to watch an apprentice changing into an abomination; they didn't have to watch as it fought the Templars and other mages, ripping their throats with teeth. Not before Uldred, at least. But it didn't take long until that became his and Greagoir's fault, too and Uldred became the fighter for mages rights.

And yet, every time an apprentice came asking for the Right of Tranquility, he tried to talk them out of it, offered extra lessons by himself if they reconsidered. How Greagoir raged when he found out! A wasted opportunity, he said. Not for Irving. The Tranquils didn't feel anything any more; so Irving felt and wept for them.

Until they finally asked him to step down. Of course, they said it was for his sake, so he could enjoy the last years of his life in peace. He knew the truth, he knew their hopes that the new First Enchanter would be better, kinder, more human. He didn't blame them for it. A lifetime ago, he had the same hopes and expectations; he failed like all before him. The new First Enchanter would have to learn, too. And all after him.

No, he wasn't bitter that he was demoted; let someone else be hated, for a change. In fact, he could be almost happy–if he wasn't so lonely. It wasn't the same, without Greagoir.

There was a knock on his door, and the next moment a Templar stepped in. "Excuse me, Senior Enchanter, but the Knight Commander wanted to have a talk with you."

He tilted his head. He was almost sure he recognised the voice, but–ah. "No, he doesn't," he said calmly. "You're the one who killed Greagoir, aren't you? Did you come to kill me, now? Feel free. I won't defend myself."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I'm ready. With or without you, I don't think I have more than few weeks." And when the Templar stood there, confused and disappointed, he couldn't help it. He laughed.

oOo

The elf watched the Templar putting away the armour. "You are angry. I thought it went well?"

"I didn't go well at all! Disgusting old bastard! He was glad I came, can you believe it? Ruined all the fun..."


	10. Noiseless, Patient Spider

I apologize for much longer break than I said. Even X had a problem this time - the victim was too well guarded, and it was not easy to set a trap. But now that X finally figured it out, the end is very near. There is only one uncrossed name on the list...

Thanks to all wonderful reviewers of the last chapter: Zute, Suilven, Hot Elf, Mistress, Shakespira, Josie Lang, Enaid Aderyn and Ie-maru. :)

And special thanks to my lovely beta Seika, who always catches unintentional clues... so you'll have to wait till the end. :)

* * *

**Noiseless, Paitent Spider**

Alistair looked around but didn't see anything unusual. Everything seemed normal: merchants with too wide smiles, loudly praising cheap goods on grimy, besmeared stands; hurrying shoppers with worried faces and rough hands; bare-foot children in shabby clothes, running after stray dogs and cats. An ordinary market day in an ordinary Ferelden port town. Swindling and petty thefts by hungry kids were the worst crimes people would normally expect on such place.

And yet, they were already here. Hidden somewhere nearby, observing him with the cruel patience of a spider that had a fly in its web, waiting until it tangled itself firm enough to make escape impossible. He knew this was a trap, that it was a foolish, suicidal idea, that the risk was too high, especially for someone with his responsibility.

"I thought you were a fool," Audrey had spat on that cold morning that he left the palace, her eyes full of tears of rage. "Now I stand corrected. You're not a fool, you're a bloody, insane, irresponsible idiot!"

It was the first time he had seen Audrey express a real emotion. She was beautiful, intelligent, well-learned and with impeccable manners. The perfect Queen. If you put her on a pedestal, you wouldn't recognize her from a highly polished granite statue. Even at the grave of her parents in Highever – she had shed a few brilliant tears, then with a sad smile had said a touching story about her childhood, sniffed few times in a laced handkerchief he gallantly gave her. That was all. Anything more would be inappropriate, and for Audrey Cousland, being inappropriate was the worst crime of all.

Perhaps if they had a child, there would be a tiny hope that the two of them would become friends. But the Maker had a cruel sense of humor. A child was the main reason he married Audrey, and not the woman he loved – but it never happened, no matter how much they tried. He knew she blamed him, though she never said so openly. In the end he told her she could find a lover, if she wanted, someone who would give her a child, on the condition they would be discreet. She stared at him as if she had never seen him before, but she didn't say anything about it. Ever. But she became even colder.

So he made no illusions that she was worried about _him_. No, she was angry because he was a king, and what would the people say if they found out that he ran away from his royal duties and risked his life, just to save someone like _her_? A mage of dubious origins, who behaved and dressed a man, and was never able to cover her emotions?

Including her emotions towards him.

He betrayed it once. Sold it for a life he never wanted and wife he never loved, and regretted it ever since. Regretted every morning he woke up next to another woman. And then, a week ago, there was a sealed envelope addressed to "Alistair the Late" in his mail. Nobody knew who put it there, though the guard captain interrogated every person that could have come near it.

_She will be next_, the message said. Dated a week ahead. The place: Amaranthine. Nothing that Audrey, Teagan or anyone else said could stop him. He took his best guards, gave Audrey full power in case he died, and left for Amaranthine. They arrived yesterday night, rented a room at the inn, and when he woke up this morning, the keeper gave him another message – to go to the market. Alone.

So here he was, standing in the middle of the market, waiting for the spider to show him the way deeper into the web. But this time, it was the spider who would become the prey. His bodyguards were ready, hidden nearby; the Amaranthine guards were also informed. And he himself was still a decent fighter – he still practiced and sparred every evening.

"A message for you, Ser!"

He started and looked down at a kid. He had never seen anyone with that many freckles, he thought as he took the envelope and unsealed it.

_Ten minutes left. Tell the boy to lead, if you wish to see her before._

"Lead," he said, and the boy grinned, turned on his heel and started running. He quickly followed, through the crowd at the market and then through dark alleys, winding like a huge web, until they stopped in front of a house that looked as if it would crumble down any moment. There the boy stopped and knocked.

The door opened. A Templar came out and gave the boy a few coins. "Good job, kid," he said. Alistair knew that voice, he was sure of it. He had the name on the tip of his tongue.

"Just in time," said the Templar. "Get in. Quickly."

He obediently entered the house. His bodyguards were near; until they arrived, he was supposed to be as compliant as possible, buying them a bit more time. The house was dark and smelled of rotten fish. He saw a dark silhouette in the door to the left, surrounded with a weak pale-blue aura. The person moved away from the door and walked to him. It was an elf–an elf he recognized immediately, though it was few years since they met.

"You? But why? I thought we were al-" he gasped in pain and shock.

The Templar was saying something, but it was just a distant echo. It didn't make any sense, he thought before he collapsed.

oOo

"I can't believe he fell for it."

"You didn't know her. Is everything ready?"

"Yes. The strongest will go off if someone opens the door, but there are also two smaller that will go off in ten minutes. Better to be sure."

"Then lets hurry." They dragged the unconscious man through the trap door and through the sewers; when the bombs went off, it was just a distant sound a weak tremble of the ground. The king was theirs. Only one more person until the complete victory. And there was no one to stop them.


	11. Traps

Sorry it took me so long. The last chapter will be out sooner, I promise.

Thanks to wonderful beta Seika for her help and comments!

* * *

**Traps**

To go was the most foolish thing that she could do. It was a trap, and the chance that she would survive it and save Alistair was negligible. Saving him was not Warden business, as he was not a Warden any more. And as he was in the Amaranthine undercover, it was not her business as an Arlessa, either. She should let the Templars handle it, and the royal guards. After all, the tunnel was cleared again, and dozens of men with mabari hounds were combing the Amaranthine underground; it was only a matter of time until they found the abductors.

She was aware of all that. Nate had mentioned it often enough.

He had also said there was no proof that the finger belonged to Alistair. But the problem was, they both knew that it did.

And wasn't it exactly that sort of excuses and lies that had caused all this? From the moment she heard about Leliana's death, she knew who was responsible. And yet she didn't say a word, not even to Zev. There was no proof, she argued with herself during endless nights, worrying who would be the next. As long as there was no proof, there was still a hope that she was wrong.

Now she couldn't pretend any more. Now was the time she finally had to face the truth and stop lying. To herself... and to Nate.

Her dear, loving Nate. Always kind and understanding, always on her side. Never the first one. She was determined to love him back, and did all she could to be a good wife to him. But they both knew he was just a replacement. Of course, neither of them ever said it aloud. Until this morning.

Until the messenger brought a little package for the Warden commander.

_You're the one I want, Solona. Come to me, darling. We will have a little chat, it will be fun and nobody has to be hurt. If you don't come, I will be sad and disappointed. There might be another tragic accident and your king might lose another finger or two. Or some other part. Tell me, darling, what would you like to receive next? _

Two pages of insane rants and threats... and surprisingly precise instructions. She was supposed to board a boat that would be waiting for her in Amaranthine docks. Alone. The person in the boat, the message said, knew nothing about Alistair's abduction, so arresting him would achieve nothing. Except Alistair's death.

Nate begged her not to go. He tried to convince her to show the message and what came with it to the Templars. And then to continue with their own life.

They had a big row about it. In one moment she felt hatred toward him, stronger than ever before, and when he said that if she left, it would be all over, she agreed without hesitation. She knew she should feel guilty–he didn't deserve this, he really didn't–but all she felt was a relief.

The lies were over and she was ready to receive punishment.

oOo

"I believe you owe me fifty silver."

The elf peered through the window shutter and grumbled; he hadn't believed she would come. How silly. Of course she came. Anyone who knew Solona at all wouldn't doubt it.

"Take care of the fisherman. I'll greet our guest and take her to His Majesty."

"All right, but end it quickly. Two hours max. Unless you changed your mind about Kinloch Hold."

"You always ruin all the fun, but all right."

Two hours were much less than originally planned, but they would be enough. And a great fun.

* * *

Sorry. Nobody died today, either. X insisted on having both Alistair and Solona together first. Though I guess by now it's clear WHO X and the elf are... the big question now is WHY are they doing it... and if Solona and and Alistair will survive. What do you think?


	12. Closing the Circle

Here it is. The last chapter - which makes it my first finished multichapter. :D I learned many thigs, about writing, but also about myself. For example, that I'm much more sadistic than I thout. ^^ But it was also difficult. To kill some of the characters broke my heart. In other cases it was difficult to get into the character's head and understand their motivations. But, I must say, I like Isolde, Eamon and Greagoir much more now than before I wrote this.

Another difficult thing was not telling you who it was, in the replies to reviews. Reading your guesses and theories was such fun! :D

I wouldn't be able to write this without help, advices and encouragement from my beta, **Seika**. Thank you so much, sweetie! *glomps Seika* Big thanks also to Bloodsong who never got tired of poking me until I finished it. Continue good job, please. :D

Enjoy... I hope the ending won't disappoint you.

* * *

**Closing the Circle**

Cullen was disappointed. He had expected much more from the famous Hero. How could she think to overcome him with this pathetic spell? Oh, sure, it _was_ blood magic. But he had served in Kirkwall. That city was a nest of blood mages who would burst into abominations whenever someone sneezed near them; those poor, abused maleficarum. To survive for more than a year was already an achievement; _he_ was a Knight Captain.

"Solona, darling. Is this the way a lady behaves when she reunites with her first love?"

"I should have killed you years ago," she said, panting. Pale, sweating and covered in blood like that, she wasn't attractive at all.

"Funny thing. I wanted to say the same thing," he replied.

"Fuck you."

"Tsk, tsk. Such terrible manners. The Solona I knew would never say something like this... but then, the Solona I knew–I _thought_ I knew-would never start a war."

She stared at him as if she didn't know what he was talking about. "And you can stop pretending,you know," he continued. "Your foolish king has already confessed your crimes."

"If you do anything to hurt Alistair, I'll-!"

He laughed at her. "You'll do nothing, darling. It all ends here. I killed all your collaborators. You're the last one."

"Collaborators?"

"I admit, it was a clever plan. You had us all fooled in the Tower. No one would expect that sweet, pure Solona Amell was a blood mage-"

"No," she interrupted. "I only learned blood magic after I came to Amaranthine. Back then I didn't know-"

"Oh, of course you didn't. It was all just coincidence, wasn't it? That one of your best friends was a blood mage, and the other friend blew up the Chantry? I'm telling you, I know everything. There are few little details I'm not sure about–for example, how did you convince Lily to assist you with the little escape farce? Was it your clever manipulation, or did Jowan enchant her? Just don't tell me he persuaded her with his lover skills. I won't believe that." He chuckled. "As I said, it was quite impressive. You got recruited into the Grey Wardens, just like you wanted, didn't you? And Jowan went on to poison Arl Eamon. You wanted to be the only puppeteer of the bastard king."

"I didn't even know Alistair existed!"

"But Irving did. He and Duncan were old friends. And you were Irving's pet... perhaps the whole plan was Irving's idea. I'd like to believe that... but Jowan was an idiot. He messed up, and to cover it, he summoned demons and turned the Arl's heir into an abomination. That way you could control the Arl... and it also gave you an excuse to return to the Tower and help Anders escape."

If she confessed, if she was penitent, he would be merciful and end it quickly. But instead, she decided to continue in her lies.

"We came to the Tower to ask for help for Connor... Anders didn't escape thanks to me, he escaped because of Uldred's rebellion-"

"Oh, yes. And that it started at that moment, just in time for you to save the day and become the hero was another coincidence, was it?"

"Yes!"

"Stop lying!" he roared. He Silenced her again, draining her of last bits of energy, and making her feel dizzy and disoriented again. It would only last for ten, fifteen minutes, but by then, Fenris should be here again. What was taking him so long anyway?

"I always knew Irving was involved but Greagoir refused to listen, said I had no proof and that it was all only in my head." He laughed. "I warned him that this would happen, I warned him you and Anders and Jowan were dangerous but he didn't listen. He could have stopped you and prevent the war, but he did nothing! Because of him, thousands of people died–and then he went into retirement and grew orchids! Maker knows I'm not doing this for my own pleasure but as His servant, but I did enjoy executing the old viper."

"You're insane."

"You're insane, you're insane," he mimicked her. "Can't you people say anything else? This is getting old, you know. Are you going to tell me that it was also a coincidence that you recruited Anders, that he merged with the demon while he served you, that he went to Kirkwall, protected by his Grey Warden status, and became the lover of your cousin?"

"If you mean Hawke, I've heard about her, but I never met her or been in any contact with her," she replied. Stubborn bitch.

"Then you won't be sad to hear that she and all her collaborators in Kirkwall were also dealt with? She's not as clever at manipulation as you, it seems. Prince Sebastian was not swayed by her lies and intrigues. After she murdered the Knight Commander Meredith and ran away with Anders, he made a vow to bring her to justice. It took years, and a lot of money, to gather all information, but it was worth it. Yes, Solona–we've been watching you, closely followed every move you and your collaborators made. Confess, Solona! Relieve your soul!"

"There is nothing to confess."

"Yes, yes. Of course. All coincidences. The king supporting you is also a coincidence and has nothing to do with the fact that you were lovers. Your companions were all pure and innocent, loyal friends. They were not a band of criminals and low lives at all! Let me see–a drunk, a bard, a whore assassin, a member of the pagan nation that openly admits they want to destroy the Chantry... how could anyone doubt their honest intentions, right? Tell me, how much you paid them? What did you promise them for helping you cover all your crimes? I know that for Eamon and his fool of a wife it was a promise to keep their little abomination alive, but I can't figure out what the others got from your deal."

"Each of them was hundred times better than you." She spat. "To think I asked Greagoir not to execute you after you killed that apprentice... That is the only crime I made, and I deserve the Maker's punishment for that."

"So you still deny it? I told you already, Alistair confessed. I know about the plan of making Ferelden the heaven of all apostates, a southern version of Tevinter! The Guerrins were helping with the nobles, while Greagoir and Leliana were to placate the Chantry and the Divine until it was too late. Irving and Jowan were supposed to prepare the mages, and you were even negotiating with dwarves and Qunaris to send you armies, in case of the war! And if anyone found out, your whore assassin was supposed to shut them up."

She stared at him and for a moment he thought he broke her–but then she started to howl in laughter, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I see you're having fun," said the voice behind him.

He turned to the elf. "What took you so long?"

"It was messier than I expected," Fenris said with a shrug, then looked at Solona. "She doesn't look like Hawke."

"But she's the same witch with same cursed blood. There won't be peace in the world until there is one Amell left. Solona is the worst of them, I think. She was the mastermind behind it all–she was the one who sent Anders to Kirwall. If she wasn't for her, maybe you would–"

"Did she confess?" Fenris cut in.

"Not yet. But don't worry–two or three hours of a proper interrogation, and she will. Help me get her to the cellar."

oOo

In the end it took almost the whole day. The bitch was tougher than she looked. But in the end, she did confess, and signed the document.

There was only one last place to visit, before they left Ferelden. Theoretically, it was not necessary to go there in person, but Cullen learned it's better not to rely too much on servants. And besides, he wanted to see it.

They took the ship to Denerim, and then down the river to Redcliffe; it took them almost two weeks, but after all the hard work, they deserved a pause. The trip was most enjoyable, and in the dock warehouse they found everything in order. The name of a prince and a generous amount of coins could do miracles.

Such as getting few barrels into the Tower. Supposedly a gift of one of the Banns who had a child mage–an expensive gift for the new Knight Commander and the First Enchanter. In reality, the last Qunari explosive salvaged from Kirkwall.

oOo

The explosion was so strong it crushed the windows on houses near Redcliffe docks, and heard all over the city. The sky was covered in thick grey smoke, giving the nice contrasting background for the Tower itself, wrapped in bright yellow and red flames. Chunks of rocks were falling into the lake, ejecting jets of water upwards... Beautiful. Even more than he expected.

He was watching it from the balcony of their room in the inn. Fenris was standing next to him but was clever enough to pretend he didn't see the tears on Cullen's face.

The circle was finally closed.

oOo

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls._  
_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._  
_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._  
_In my arms lies Eternity_.

Canticle of Andraste 14:11


End file.
